Looking up to the sky as the clouds overcast
Like a winter blanket;
But cooling rather than warming those caught underneath.
No rhyme nor rhythm yet translucent in intent.
A dark and foreboding omen of relief and revenge,
Yet disarming those below with a welcomed cold breeze;
As if laying bare like an open book,
Lamenting that it is only cruel to be kind.
… or is it being kind to be cruel
The truth lies in the immediate aftermath.
Like a god presence;
But disarming rather than a shield those who believe.
Not prey nor predator yet clandestine in execution.
A dark and foreboding silhouette of warmth and depression;
Yet sinister in careless, unbeknownst underfoot,
As if crushing down like a unrepentant cliff face,
Lamenting that it is only cruel to be kind.
… or is it being kind to be cruel
The truth lies in the immediate aftermath.
Looking to the left as the darkness engulfs
Like an eclipse glass;
But sinister rather than promiscuous abandon.
No restitution nor relapse yet formidable in promise.
A dark and foreboding embrace of love and dementia,
Yet soothing with a sense of fervid excitement;
As if recounting flash bulb moments of what-ifs,
Lamenting that it is only cruel to be kind.
… or is it being kind to be cruel
The truth lies in the immediate aftermath.
Looking to the right as the cleansed air wafts forth
Like a ghostly waif;
But soothing rather than chilling the bone.
No luck nor derision yet pregnant with potential.
A dark and foreboding breath of cleanliness and contempt,
Yet cooling with the promise of ritual cleansing;
As if shaving away years of dog tiredness,
Lamenting that it is only cruel to be kind.
… or is it being kind to be cruel
The truth lies in the immediate aftermath.
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